Sunshine Gold and Honey Yellow
by ninth-carousel
Summary: It's barely a flicker and it lasts only half a moment but it leaves Sam breathless all over again. WINCEST


This was meant to be a quick 1000 word oneshot written because I felt bad for not getting the next chapter of my other story out. But this damn thing was uncooperative and wouldn't leave me ALONE and I couldn't write the other one until this was done and it somehow turned into a monster of a story. Faceplants.

On a different note, I didn't even know what to put this under. It's got angst, humour and romance as the three main genres, but I decided on angst because this probably ain't gonna be too happy in the end. There are (hopefully) some laughs along the way though.

Also, lazy lazy lazy writing in spots - I just reaaaally wanted to get it out. I apologise for that.

x

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><p><strong>Sunshine Gold and Honey Yellow<strong>

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><p><em>Part I II_

x

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><p>Four deaths so far; three men and one woman. All in different months and the police have no idea of the culprit as of yet – aren't even sure if they're connected or not. Presumed to be animal attacks from wolves or a bear– or so the paper says. Sam thinks it's probably something a little more sinister. He taps his pen thoughtfully against the table, interrupting the rhythm whenever he finds something to circle or underline. His eyes continue scanning down the page as he works– jumping back and forth – in time with the beating of his pen. His eyes doubletake and jar to a stop. The pen's rhythm stutters for a moment, and then strays to stillness.<p>

There's a picture of the victims. The men are unremarkable; they hold the kind of everyday faces of ordinary people -the ones that in normal circumstances would simply slip by past the crowd's notice. The woman however, is beautiful. She is young with a warm smile and long blonde hair. Sam frowns and he forces his eyes back to the text.

Sam rubs a hand through his hair, feeling haggard and sleepless. His eyes scan the words but his mind is too sluggish to comprehend and soon his eyes slip back to the woman's face.

He remembers a laugh that rang like the twinkling of bells and hair that was sunshine gold. He remembers a sweet, curling smile with lips so soft and eyes that danced with glee and love and mischief. Sam remembers Jess a lot. Sometimes in idle split-second passing brought on by places or words or even food. Just small everyday things that wrench up flickers of memories that he can't seem to suppress. Other times though, it lasts for hours on end. In grief-stricken paralysis, he stares at the ceiling of whatever rundown motel, watching again and again and again as she rains down on him as ashes and blood.

Whether he's remembering fond moments or wakeful nightmares, she always there, close-by in his thoughts. So unrelentingly haunted by a ghost he can never exorcise (one he's not so sure he wants to destroy).

_She__ doesn__'__t__ look__ like__ Jess._ He squints back at the article beneath the photo. The words begin to waver and wriggle across the page; swirling and clumping into indecipherable blobs. He blinks owlishly down at the newspaper. Sam pulls his eyes away from the printed words to the world around him as an ache starts up between his temples. He sighs and glances around. It's then that he notices the diner girl at the table. It's probably a good thing that Dean's there to hold her attention.

The waitress is short and slim with bleached-blonde hair and an annoying high-pitched giggle. Her name is Amy or Amber or something. Sam doesn't really care enough to check her name badge; he just wishes she'd stop laughing like a squealing pig and pawing at Dean's arm. He also wishes his brother wouldn't encourage her with his deep-throated laughs, disarming grin and permanent bedroom eyes.

Sam can't grasp Dean's fascination with women so obviously fake, or how he can happily venture into so many one-night stands; horrible imitations of proper relationships. He'd learnt to accept the behaviour as Dean being Dean a long time ago though. He watches as she flips her fake-blonde hair and sashays her hips and he can't repress a snort at the spectacle. Sam just wishes Dean had better taste.

Dean glances across at him and catches his eye; grinning and eyes twinkling with a glint of mischievousness.

"Quite the looker, eh?" He rumbles, his eyes trained on her retreating arse.

"Absolutely stunning." He hopes the sarcasm in his dry response isn't too obvious.

Dean's grin fades into an amused smirk as his eyebrow cocks in question.

"You jealous Sam?"

Sam glances back over to the waitress who is now standing at the counter giggling and whispering with an equally fake-looking brunette. They both stare rather blatantly at Dean, giving him a once-over every five seconds and fluttering their eyelashes whenever Dean turns to stare. Sam suppresses an eyeroll. They could only dream to hold the laugh of ringing bells and to have hair that shined brightly golden.

He doesn't even bother to hide the sarcasm oozing from his reply, "I'm completely green with envy."

Dean grins.

"Don't worry too much Samantha; you'll always be the most special girl in my life."

Sam's inevitable bitchface comes right on cue.

"Because that's what I meant. Of course I'm devastated by you playing flirty-face with a diner slut."

"No need for name-calling. You'll feel bad about it later, once your jealous fit passes."

"My jealous fit over the fact that you want to screw her, right?"

"You always did act like a jealous girlfriend Sam," Sam snorts in indignation as a reply and Dean just grins more, "You know you want me."

"Oh Dean, am I really that transparent?" He snarks back with an eyeroll.

Dean just chuckles and calls the waitress over.

She smiles and struts towards them taking her merry time; her eyes never leave Dean. As expected she flirts and bends over unnecessarily and laughs like a squealing pig whenever she gets the chance. Sam tries not to wince and show his dislike of her, and Dean tries not to laugh at Sam's disgruntlement.

Unexpectedly though, Dean pays the bill and leaves after denying her request to catch up later (to which she pouts stupidly) and Sam finds himself watching his brother with honest surprise and interest as they leave and wander towards the Impala.

"All that and you're not even gonna sleep with her." Sam says hiding curiosity behind annoyance as they jump into the car and Dean starts the engine.

Dean glances to Sam and says, with an air of complete seriousness, "Couldn't do that to you Sam. I know it would break your heart."

Sam resists the urge to hit him. And it's only because Dean's driving.

"Despite what you may think, the whole world isn't madly in love with you."

"Of course not, just the entire female population. Including you."

Sam thwacks his brother around the back of his head.

"Don't distract the driver!" Dean hollers, between laughter as he rubs at his skull.

x

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><p>x<p>

"So, Sammy, whaddya say to stopping in for a drink before we find a motel?"

Sam cracks an eye open and looks to his brother. He hadn't been asleep, but dozing; lost in another world. He hadn't even noticed that they'd stopped driving.

Sam rolls his eyes as he realises they're already parked outside a bar. He sits up and stretches slowly, enjoying the pull on his muscles. He turns to his brother, smiling wryly.

"Well you didn't really give me much choice did you?" He says as Dean shuts off the engine and jumps from the car, Sam following.

"Nope." Dean says cheerily before wandering ahead towards the bar.

It's dark out and there's a slight chill in the Arizonian air and Sam realises more time than he originally thought had passed. It's twilight and most of the red has bled from the sky; dark blues and purples rein behind a sprinkle of stars. The bar stands alone and out of place in the scenery; a beacon of movement, light and noise in an otherwise quiet place.

Inside, the pub is pretty subdued. Patrons laugh and knock back shots one by one at the bar. Regulars loiter around the darker corners of the room and at the back of the booths, trading hushed whispers and bitter expressions. Grinning men swarm around the pool tables in the back, boasting their skills and making wagers amongst the bitten off curses of losers and triumphant laughs of scammers. Heady, flickering overhead lights cast the pub in and out of shadows.

Dean saunters straight to the bar and takes a stool, Sam lingering and dawdling behind. By the time he's taken the stool next to his brother, Dean's already nursing a cold beer in his palm. Dean's eyes scan the room as he sips, while Sam picks at his nails distractedly.

"So what's this gig you were looking into about?"

"Hmm?" Sam blinks lazily and his head flits up to stare at his brother. "Oh." He says, his mind only just deciphering Dean's question. "Uh, there's been several deaths over in Salt Lake the past couple of months. People's bodies have turned up mauled at the edge of the woods. Cops are saying animal attacks."

"Any survivors?"

"No. So far all the victims have been killed. I haven't found anything about any witnesses yet either. It's something to look into."

Dean's head bobs in a continuous nod – a sign which tells Sam he's either contemplating what he's just heard, or he's not really listening to what Sam's saying. From the way his eyes assess and then slowly reassess one of the young female patrons, Sam presumes it's the latter.

"How old do you reccon that chick over there is?" Dean asks, eyes never leave the brunette as he jerks his head in her direction. Sam's eyes dismissively trail the long-legged and giggling woman sitting in a booth. From his glance he can gather she's pretty.

"I dunno Dean." The, _and __I __really __don__'__t __care_, is left unsaid.

"She's gotta be eighteen at least right?" He mumbles, still watching as she chatters to the group of women around her. Sam can feel a muscle in his neck tick.

"Seriously Dean." His low tone oozes _you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me._

"What? Gotta know if she's legal or not. I'm a law-abiding citizen."

Sam snorts, "Sure you are."

Despite his annoyance, Sam eyes the girl, humming in thought as he does. She probably is eighteen already. If asked he'd guess around the nineteen mark. She's curvy in a way which isn't common for highschool girls, but her face is soft and round and seemingly too childish for the rest of her. That face suddenly swivels towards them and bends to riffle through the handbag at her feet. Sam's eyebrow ticks upwards. Yeah, definitely older than eighteen - that or she started growing boobs when she was six. . He hears Dean hum – practically purr - in approval next to him and he feels his jaw tighten. He finds himself calling, "Jailbait."

Dean's lips purse, eyes lingering on the girl before landing on Sam.

"Definitely shoulda banged that waitress from earlier today. This is all your fault."

Sam ignores the creeping sense of satisfaction and tries for annoyance.

"How is that my fault?"

Dean's eyes slide over Sam's features, slow and sure like he has all the time in the world. It takes Sam a second to realise, but when it dawns that Dean's examining his face, a weird queasiness settles in the bottom of his gut. It's a slow practiced drop that churns and leaves him trying not to grimace or look away. He can almost feel the way Dean's stare travels over the dips and curves of his face. He shivers. His own gaze follows the movement of Dean's before his brother catches on. Dean's eyes stop and meet Sam's. Sam shifts on his stool.

"You're always death glaring my possible conquests."

Sam's heart jerks up at that. Heat flushes up his neck and he fights to halt it there, before it can settle over his face.

The way in which Dean watches Sam with his deserted of a grin, takes away from any playfulness that would usually accompany such an accusation.

Sam doesn't allow himself to stumble though, and - on autopilot - he rolls his eyes, some part of him almost breathing a sigh of relief for the excuse to break away from Dean's gaze. His eyes shift and come full circle, landing back on Dean, and as he does, the sarcastic reply dies on his tongue.

An odd light flickers through Dean's eyes.

Sam stares blatantly, trying to rediscover that glint and capture it's meaning – to figure out whether it was some emotion skittering through, or just a play of the faulty lights. Dean doesn't shy away. Instead his gaze pierces and holds Sam, in a way which is so rare for him and feels so private that Sam would be shying away if it weren't for its' alluring force and the niggling sense of _something_ behind that look.

The room is quiet. Sam can hear heavy breath above the droning murmur of people. He sees nothing but a depthless black that encroaches on a stunning bright green that's spackled with golden flecks. The lazy flickering haze of bar light coats and seems to seal all the colours with a glossy texture like a painting in a gallery. For a moment Sam's mind is suspended and it scrambles for purchase, a trickle of panic slicing through him as he tries to grasp what's happening.

Suddenly Sam is very aware of what they're doing and where they are. He's aware of the buzzing under his skin, the sweat pearling on his palms, and the arid dry of his mouth and lips. He's aware of his deep breathing and posture, the way he's leaning towards Dean, and how close they are and how damned detailed and fascinating his brother's eyes look.

He remembers that he was supposed to reply before he started his freaky staring. His tongue is thick and words are foreign but after a quick scuffle for coherency he manages a barked,

"Bite me."

Dean makes no move. Sam holds his breath.

A grin rips across Dean's face; bright and sudden and harsh. It's accompanied by a chuckle. Sam's shoulders sag.

Dean jumps to his feet, with a drink in hand, towering up over Sam for once.

"Maybe later, if you're naughty." He says with a wink before meandering over towards the pool tables.

Sam sits for a moment - taut and completely still - and watches as Dean approaches the players, sussing out the chumps and tossing out charm in bucketloads. Sam's stomach churns weirdly and he feels an odd disquiet lingering under his skin. His mind is blank. He tucks loose hairs behind his ears but lets them fall into flyaways again, when they tickle annoyingly at his skin. He shifts on his stool.

_What the hell was all that?_

He shifts again.

"Can I get ya something, boy?" The old bartender growls as he scratches at his bald head and wipes down the counter with the other.

Sam jumps, calms, and hesitates, before nodding.

The bartender eyes him for a moment, before pouring a shot and sliding it his way.

"Look like you could do with a coupla those."

Sam smiles weakly in an attempt to be polite – but he's fairly certain it looks more like a grimace. He knocks it back, enjoying the burn it brings. He signals for another which slips down easier than the first.

He orders just one more.

As the third scorches down his throat, Sam shudders. Everything has taken on a slightly blurry edge. He spends a whole five seconds telling himself he's not avoiding looking over at the pool tables – that he simply just doesn't want to – before he finds himself looking anyway. Dean's in the middle of hustling two men who look more like they should be out on street corners dealing drugs and pimping women, rather than hanging out in a quiet bar.

He watches the way Dean moves around the table, lining up shots and predicting future moves. He can't force his mind away from _what__ the__ fuck__ just __happened_.

It wasn't that weird. He pulls at his collar.

They'd always taunted and teased another even when they were growing up. That was nothing new. Ironically though, Sam thinks it's probably gotten worse now that they are grownups. The way they banter and tease and test another's resolve is something they've always done. But even he can't ignore that that had been different. More intense. Way too serious.

With all the sombre eye contact, and with what Dean had said… There was something else there, beyond the usual joking.

Dean seemed to be looking for a specific reaction. It was…

Tense. Weirdly and uncharacteristically tense and serious.

Sam shifts on his stool. He sees Dean quirk a cocky smile from where he stands. Sam smiles back. That whole thing was definitely nothing. He was just overanalysing. Sam fiddles with his collar and Dean cocks an eyebrow his way. Doesn't Sam only do that when he's lying?

x

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><p>x<p>

The library is quiet and mostly empty as Sam boots up one of it's computers and taps his fingers impatiently. Dean sits beside him, ignoring Sam's existence and looking lost in thought. Though Sam wouldn't be shocked to find he had already gone mad with boredom

Sam had read about continual unexplained disappearances in the paper and thought he may have caught onto their sort of case a couple of towns over. He wanted to be sure though but since Dean infected his computer with viruses (Oh for god sakes Dean! How many times do I have to tell you not to look up porn on my laptop?) and the newspapers provided little useful information, they'd been forced to use the incredibly slow network of the library.

Sam purses his lips and tugs at his collar feeling entirely irked. The library is still – almost stagnant - except for the occasional passer-by wandering through. Sam scratches his cheek and shifts in his chair. He glances back to the screen. The internet homepage hasn't even half loaded yet. God, he hated this town.

Sam narrows his eyes and glares at his brother next to him.

"This is all your fault y'know."

Dean's head is turned away, and his eyes take their time in flickering to meet his brother's. A bored look stretches across his features and he regards Sam oddly for a moment. For an instant Sam feels unnerved; Dean's gaze is steady and almost piercing, leaving Sam to feel as though he's being analysed. But the moment is lost as quickly as it came, and Dean turns away once more. He shrugs, dismissing Sam, airily replying, "Sure, whatever you say Sammy."

Sam feels his lips twitch in frustration as his mood sours, "Don't call me that." He grumbles and tells himself he's pissed off about the nickname and nothing else.

Sam's distracted and annoyed and the internet _still_ hasn't loaded and they're in Arizona at a public library, and really there's no real reason why that should upset Sam, but he feels like bitching over everything today. Dean's convinced it's because Samantha's on her period but decides not to voice his opinion for fear of the dreaded bitchface. Though he had been receiving plenty of that the last few days anyway.

The homepage finally loads just as Sam starts entertaining thoughts of fratricide, and he searches _Alta__ Salt __Lake__ disappearances._ He scrolls through the search results and quickly becomes lost in the work in front of him. The next hours are full of scouring news articles and local blogs and the chattering of keys and mouse-clicks as Sam follows link after link and refines his searches. He pays close attention for any accidental cluesas to what might be happening at Alta. Becoming so swept up within his research, Sam completely forgets about his brother's presence.

Two hours later, Sam turns to the seat beside him - the possibilities rushing through his mind - eager to discuss with Dean. Sam blinks in surprise for a moment. An empty chair and a pile of unattended books and newspapers sit stoically beside him. They lay closed as though they were never opened. He frowns for a moment, before his eyes flicker around the library. It doesn't take long before they land on Dean, and Sam's demeanour instantly curdles.

His brother's back is to him as he chats to the pretty red-headed librarian, who smiles shyly as she rearranges books on the shelf. Sam can hear her flirtatious giggle from where he sits and he tenses as he hears Dean's answering chuckle; all deep-throated and gravelly. The tightness in his stomach from the bar returns. The red-head gives a particularly loud and flirty laugh and playfully slaps Dean's arm. She leaves her hand to rest on his bicep. His stomach seems to coil tighter. Sam feels his cheeks flushing and finds himself muttering about his brother's short attention span.

When Dean laughs loudly and leans closer to the woman, Sam considers storming over and reminding them that this is a library and that they're supposed to be quiet.

Instead, he turns away. Sam levels his gaze back towards the computer and sits rigidly. He follows a mental checklist on supernatural beings, all the while trying to ignore his clenching stomach, burning cheeks and the pretty librarian's laugh.

x

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><p>x<p>

"Well, while you were busy macking it with the librarian, I was actually doing something productive." Sam says, trying to keep his tone light.

"You really do need to work on those jealousy issues Sammy, it's very unbecoming." Dean says gravely as his slips the hotel key into the door and swings it open. He ambles in and allows it to fly backwards towards Sam. Sam catches it and throws Dean a pissy face, even though he can't see it. It's the thought that counts.

"Har har." He says as he follows inside and slams the door shut.

If Dean notices the display, he doesn't show it.

"I thought it was funny too."

"Shut up, Dean." Sam says with a little too much conviction.

Silence reigns. Sam winces, already regretting the harshness of his tone.

He's already conjuring up an apology when he notices Dean watching him. Something shifts across Dean's face – an expression too quick for Sam to catch – and suddenly Dean's grinning like he just won something. Sam's face twitches in agitation.

Why the hell is Dean looking at him like that? Why is he watching him so closely?

Why is he so close?

Sam blinks stupidly when he realises Dean's right in front of him and much much closer than how far apart they'd usually stand. His pulse is jittering under his skin.

"What the hell Dean?"

"I'm not stupid Sam." Dean says a-matter-of-factly.

Sam blinks down at him, words jumping to his lips before he has time to figure out what Dean's trying to say.

"What?" He mutters.

Dean stares at him, his face open and readable for once. There's a look of 'oh, I know what's going on'. And it's then that Sam realises Dean knows something. He doesn't know what that is or why it has his hands sweating and eyes rounding or his heart thumping. Just that it does.

Dean's face closes for a moment, baffling and incomprehensible. Then it's jumping from surprise, to delight, back to surprise, before settling on a look that is decidedly smug. Very, very smug. Dean grins. He stares a moment longer (that damned smug grin still stretching across his face), before spinning on his heel and practically skipping away.

He glances over his shoulder and announces cheerfully, "I'm gonna go shower."

Why Dean is so cheerful about that, Sam thinks he'll never know. He feels agitated and confused; his brain struggling to find a semblance of logic. As he slips off his shoes and lies back on his single mattress he listens to the sound of running water and Dean humming ACDC.

He can't help but feel he's missing something.

Ten minutes later, Sam's still feeling a little lost when Dean emerges from the bathroom. The towel hangs low on his hips and his hair is dripping small droplets of water down his cheeks and neck. A cloud of steam follows him out. Sam watches as he crosses the room and begins riffling through his duffel for clean clothes.

"You better not have used all the hot water."

Dean smirks and turns to face his brother on the bed. Sam's eyes jump away.

"And what if I have?"

"I'll have to kick your arse." He replies automatically as he stares at the ceiling.

Dean chuckles, and Sam can hear the utter amusement in the tone.

"I love it when you take control. It gets me all tingly."

For whatever reason that really irks Sam. He glares and Dean grins back.

"So, what were you babbling on about before?"

"Uh, you mean the case?"

"Well I caught that much."

Sam sighs and stretches.

"Long story short, it's probably a werewolf."

"I figured." Dean says as he plonks down onto his bed.

"Never hurts to check."

"Yeah, whatever." He dismisses as he rolls onto his side, "So when are we plugging the bastard?"

"Well… in four days we'll be at the right point in the lunar cycle, but..."

"Sweet, four days it is then." Dean chirps up.

Sam frowns, wanting to argue. Dean switches the lamp off and they're plummeted into darkness. Sam doesn't miss the meaning behind the action. His lips purse in annoyance.

"G'night Bitch."

Sam settles under the covers, deciding they can bicker about it tomorrow.

"Shut up jerk." He grunts back.

"Ooh, Tingles." Dean sing-songs. Sam can hear the grin in his voice and he can't suppress a bark of laughter.

Grabbing his pillow Sam sits up and pegs it in Dean's direction. He hears a satisfying thump and an annoyed "Oi!" call out from the darkness. He tries not to laugh but can't stop himself when the pillow comes flying back and hits him in the chest. He can hear Dean chuckling.

x

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><p>x<p>

Everything's burning and it's hot hot hot. But all Sam feels is cold. His skin burns and screams becoming disfigured in the flames, but his insides have turned to ice and his feet are frozen to the floor.

Golden ringlets and porcelain skin are tinted red in the heated glow. It reminds him of a time when they sat outside together watching the sunset and laughing at nothing. Her mouth had been wide and smiling, her skin washed red and her hair glowing with a halo of afternoon light. Now her mouth is stretched in a pained and distorted scream, her flesh burning in hellish flames.

Her hair and skin flake and grey, dissolving to ash and fluttering down around him before his eyes. Thick pools of crimson ooze and dribble from a gash across her stomach, seeping through her white nighty and drenching it red with blood. It falls down like twirling ruby ribbons, sickeningly beautiful and grotesque. It showers over him, staining his skin and hair and clothes. It feels wet and thick like heavy rusty water. And Sam's horrified. But he can't do anything. He can't move at all.

Jess. Jess. _Jess_.

There's blood and flames everywhere, and _Oh__ God__ Jess_ and suddenly he's thrashing awake and panicking and he can't breathe and maybe he doesn't even want to anymore. Not without her.

His body lurches into a sit, head pounding and chest heaving. It's pitch black, and for a moment Sam's lost in confusion and panic; where are the flames, the blood, Jess? His head feels as though it's smouldering with the flames from the past, and he almost reaches up to check if he's burning.

Eventually he calms down. The heat in his head and the heavy _thump-thump-thump_ in his chest lose their urgency and he tries to lie back down to sleep. For the first time since Jess' death, he isn't haunted for hours afterwards with the persistent images of his girlfriend's death. He isn't rattled with guilty thoughts and wakefulness; instead he wonders what effect this has on Dean. He knows Dean's always awake during his nightmares, no proper hunter would be able to sleep soundly through his desperate thrashing, and Dean is nothing if not a good hunter – but Dean pretends to be unaware and lets Sam deal with it on his own terms, and Sam pretends to believe Dean doesn't know. But tonight it's different.

Dean peers over at Sam through the darkness. Not piercing him with an interrogative or questioning stare, simply gazing expressionlessly. Sam stares back. He can barely see Dean in the blackness, but a small shard of moonlight beams from the curtains and illuminates his brother's eyes. He wonders what his brother is thinking. Wonders how this affects him; whether or not it leaves any impression at all.

He hears the rustle of Dean's blankets and Sam's heart skips a beat. What is he doing? Why is he moving? For a moment he thinks that maybe Dean is going to get up and come over to him. Lofty hopes that he'll join him and distract him and make the plaguing memories go away, to just let Sam forget for a little while. But then he notices that the glint of Dean's eyes are gone and Sam realises Dean has rolled over. His heart stutters. His muscles, which were tense with anticipation, flag; melting into the mattress. He tells himself it's relief – not disappointment – that he's feeling.

Then guilt washes over him, suffocating and thick.

What about Jess?

A sickening clench grasps at his stomach.

How could he forget about her, let alone _want_ to? She was someone who never deserved to be forgotten.

Sam spends the rest of the night loathing himself, his dreams, his memories and the hold Dean has on him.

x

* * *

><p>xx<p>

My God, this story is bi-polar, one second its happy-skippity-doo-daa, the next it's all tense and emo. I apologise for my randomness.

Just so you know, I've already finished this story – I made sure to finish the next chapter before uploading this one. So the next chapter will DEFINITELY be posted within a week. Mostly it depends on how long I feel like dragging out the waiting. Haha.

Reviews are appreciated.


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